mordicai caeli (mordicai) wrote,
mordicai caeli

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a flinstones vitamin army, ten million (10,000,000) strong, & growing.

>>postal service. track 3, "sleeping in." first verse. very, very tight.
>>speaking of tight, how is your vagina?

>my vagina's fuckin' bored.
>joe always comes early.

sounds like a problem. make him wear a condom.
i feel like a respectable adult, talking about sex.
or wait.

i feel like a carp. no particular connection there.
i had to check. yes, carp is what it is.
dirty, dirty carp. or yes, i'm a dirty boy.

or something.

don't tell me you didn't miss my rapier sharp wit.
(i hear lower class mother's sell my wit with their ginzu knife sets, door to door. until one day, they come to a home wear a lonely widower lives...a lonely widower, with a sexy past! & the mother, she's!)

>she's impatient. and bored. and looking to relocate to a more exiting,
>satisfying location.

i'd say the same about old odin (yah know. one eye, twin ravens. ha ha fucking ha.) but in a pretty unsurprising way. move to new york. give me fucking time.

>the rest of me including my vagina is working on a play where i get to be a
>hooker who kills her two kids.

i'm in a play, i'm not in a play. i am in lab alot though. shit, i'm so behind on my lab work, fuck being sick. i'd forgotten about that. fuck fuck fuck.

i look at arrow heads & dead guys.

>i think i'm falling in love with my acting teacher. i'm sure my vagina would
>be satisfied with that shit.

you're such a whore. what the fuck. talk about a fucking rip off. i couldn't even get you to KISS me half the time. miss curl up in a little ball.

>he's thirty something. and ripped. and

i could take him.

>girls in class, their boyfriends complain because they notice big
>purple bruises on their arms in the shower (from him "demonstrating") he
>says 'whats the big fucking deal, bruises, who gives a fuck, grow up'.

hahah. i'm thinking about that. its entertaining. i like "their boyfriends complain." i would fucking complain. with a claw hammer to the head. "its just a fucking head wound, whats the big fucking deal, brain damage, who gives a fuck. fucking die."

its amazing i havn't been charged with asault in the past year.
though i suppose the words "flee the scene of the crime" may come into play.
(this is all an exageration. in actuallity, it only happened once. okay, twice if you count bottles. but i don't.)

i buy remaindered valentines. suck on that.

>and i don't know how to register that mark stack is a machine gunner.

i do, but i think maybe i knew him in some way other than most people. less assumptions, less expectations. i talked to him today.

>and i'm going over to joes house tonight even though i broke up with him
>yesterday because he is feeding me pizza and i want to touch someone that i
>care about. what a fucking wimp.

no fucking kidding. but i'm not gonna be getting hard ass of the year award this time, i guess. a fucking girlfriend? you gotta be kidding me. next thing you know i'll be testing warm milk on my wrist to make sure its safe for the baby.

i like this tough girl image that this particular email shoots for.
on the down side, i think chuck palahniuk sucks as a writer.
i, however, apparently rule at writing.
other people have purple prose, but i'm the only guy's who's actually bruises.
like other people's girlfriends.

hahahah, i call my girlfriend up every day & tell her how much i love her.
& that band i recomended? virtually emo. the guy from death cab for cutie is in it. i cried at fried green tomatoes.

how much i've "changed"

>i wonder why nobody is ever enough ______ for me?

wait, you havn't figured it out? shit. thats funny.
we're talking, pane of glass, baby.
stained glass, don't get me wrong, but you're like me that way.
anybody could see through us in five seconds.

you know, if they actually cared enough to.

dem's the breaks.

break. glass. shit, are you watching these textual karate chops?


i like to repeat myself when i feel "blue."
like "we drive & we drive."

i will tell you my new plan. i will write a book based on edward hyde hanging out at a bar with jack the ripper.

>pizza. mmm.

psh. man, i want you to tell me something.
what's it like to fall out of love?

also, did you ever love me?
do you still love me?

i'm not sure how important those answers are, but put out a jar of ether & i make like curious george.


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